


Soft Touch

by danceswithgary



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-18
Updated: 2010-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-10 04:18:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithgary/pseuds/danceswithgary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John pays the price for a little lapse of memory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft Touch

"If you'd used my sunscreen, instead of leaving it in the jumper, then you wouldn't have to listen to me say 'I told you so.'"

John jerked under the ice-cold water trickling over his shoulders and down his back. The sound of the shower may have masked Rodney's entrance into John's quarters, but did nothing to muffle the sound of his sarcastic voice from the bathroom doorway.

Shutting the water off, John decided to drip-dry. Stepping out of the shower, he shrugged in Rodney's direction and hissed when his abused skin protested the movement. "I did use it, right before I left. You insisted on putting it on me, remember?"

John had known there was a limit to how much saltwater Rodney's special formula could stand up to, but he really hadn't expected to fall asleep on the beach. All he'd done was stretch out for a few minutes after spending a strenuous morning surfing with Ronon. The sand under the blanket had been soft and warm, and the sun had felt good on John's water-chilled skin. At least it had, until Ronon had returned from hunting dernions a few hours later and woken John up.

"I suppose the bright side of your little excursion into idiocy is that you only broiled one side of you."

Carefully twisting to check out the damage in the mirror, John winced at the tight pull of abused skin from neck to ankles, the only interruption in heated red the much-too-narrow pale band of flesh his bathing suit had protected.

"Well, because you neglected to reapply it before your nap, you're going to be spending the next few days either standing or laying on your stomach."

John had already discovered just how difficult sitting was going to be. The trip back from the mainland in the jumper had been 'interesting' with John standing behind the controls. Wearing his board shorts would have protected more of his thighs, but he'd decided to wear his shorter form-fitting suit after a close encounter with a bug-like critter the last time they'd surfed.

Resigning himself to several days of discomfort, John turned around to check the reflection of his harlequin face and rolled his eyes when he caught Rodney failing to suppress a grin when John reluctantly agreed, "Yeah, shaving's going to be a bitch, too."

Rodney stepped close enough that the heat of his body accentuated the burn, enough that John flinched away. Concern darkened Rodney's eyes in the mirror, and John saw him hesitantly raise a hand then drop it before he could aggravate the problem. His mouth twisted and he asked, "I didn't check when Jennifer called me, but I'm assuming she gave you something for the pain, Melanoma Man?"

John nodded. "She handed me some acetaminophen and told me to drink a lot of water. I told her I had some of that anesthetic cream left, and she said that it would help."

"Forget that. I have a spray that'll be a lot less painful to apply." Rodney brandished a pump bottle and pointed to the shower. "Why don't you step back in there? That way any extra will go down the drain instead of all over the floor."

Following Rodney's instructions, John re-entered the spacious stall and propped himself against the wall, legs spread and arms outstretched. He allowed his head to drop forward and closed his eyes, waiting for Rodney to start. The sound of a zipper and rustling clothes puzzled John for a moment, but then he smiled after peeking under his arm to see Rodney's naked legs and feet behind him.

The first cooling spray was a jolt, the relief shivering down his spine and raising goosebumps that prickled the skin still waiting its turn. Although the pain didn't completely disappear, as Rodney spritzed and grumbled that he should have gone to the beach with John and thereby avoided breathing in chemicals, it did subside to bearable.

When Rodney gently blew across John's shoulders and down his spine, John shuddered, the sensation of warm air over chilled skin instantly arousing, want curling deep in his belly. Before John could remember how to say something a simple as, "Please," Rodney was sliding between John and the wall. Already on his knees, Rodney had managed not to touch John anywhere while arranging himself, and the warmth of his mouth as he sucked John inside was a delicious shock.

Fascinated by Rodney's choice not to use his hands, John watched as Rodney took him deeper each time he shifted his head, his lips stretched taut and red around John. When he looked up at John and smiled, John suddenly found it hard to breathe, to swallow past certain words that he always struggled to say. Disarmed by Rodney's care, closing his eyes in self-defense, John pressed forward slowly and then pulled back in a gentle rhythm that allowed him to regain some semblance of control.

It wasn't long before Rodney's lips and tongue made John's defeat inevitable. A moan slipped out and then a low-groaned, "Rodney," followed by several slightly incoherent pleas for more. John's hips stuttered, and then Rodney's teeth scraped lightly just below the crown and John lost his battle and surrendered to Rodney in a breathless shout.

Arms trembling, John blinked his eyes open in time to see Rodney's hand working, to watch him spill on the tiles between John's feet, his reddened mouth open on a gasped, "John." A few moments later, after Rodney slumped back against the wall, he looked up at John with a slow, lazy smile and rasped, "Ready to try lying down now?"

That's when the words slipped free without even a hint of pain.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for BJ Friday prompt: Tender and McSheplet #72: Forgotten.


End file.
